Ghost
by RavenShooter
Summary: Michael Westen got called up for an important mission despite his wish to find a way to get Fiona out of jail. However, he could not pass up this mission due to the danger it will bring if he don't do it. Little did he know that this mission will help him
1. Prologue

_**GHOST**_

**Hey everyone! This is my first time writing a Burn Notice fanfic but I've written other fanfics before. Hope you will like this story!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Burn Notice or any of its characters. All rights reserved to Matt Nix. Only the new characters belong to me.**

* * *

><p><strong>PROLOGUE <strong>

_***-***_ _**Stepnogorsk, U.S.S.R, 01 20 hours, 15 November 2012*-***_

The treetops rustled as the flocks of birds flew from their nesting places, rudely interrupted from their sleep. Startled, they hurriedly escaped from the dangers of the area, squawking their fear and displeasure from that sudden shot that had roused them. They filled the inky blue sky before disappearing behind the grand mountains a few miles away. Not a single bird was left in the sky to bear witness to anything that happened in this secluded place.

Silence fell as the birds flew far away, bringing that racket they were making with them. Not a single beep could be heard. The silence was cold and unbroken, just like the snow piling up on the dirt paths that winded around the abandoned city of Stepnogorsk. A chilly wind blew through the area yet no one shivered. A blue flag emblazoned with two stars that was once the symbol of the once lucrative mining business of this town now lay on the barren ground sadly. The colours had faded and so did its pride. When the pride of this business diminished, the people of this town began to move away to find new opportunities. No one stayed. They needed to survive.

The wind that had filtered through the empty, semi-destroyed buildings now flitted over to the flag that laid together with the rubbish that was never cleared over the years. The wind picked up the flag and they flew together, past an alleyway that was overshadowed by a bald tree.

A young man walked out of the shadows and his hooded eyes watched the flag passing him, the wind carrying it in its stead. The man raised his shocking blue eyes as he stared at the crumbling barrenness of the city that was going to waste. The cobalt blue eyes hardened as he took in the remains of a once- rich city. His gloved knuckles whitened over his TT-30 which was splattered with blood, just like the front of his dark fur jacket.

The man was still young; his face holding hints of plumpness from his boyhood but his eyes had aged faster than the rest of his face. They were of a sapphire blue that was as deep as the ocean. Anyone who stared into his eyes would be mesmerised by the depth however, they would wonder why those eyes held no spirit. It was dead and as hard as a stone, cold as it observed the area. His nose was of a fine shape, not too angular nor was it too flat. His high cheekbones and slightly pointed chin were a sculptor's dream and his dark, runaway hair was of a messy chop but that just enhanced the handsome man that he was soon to become.

He stood at 6 feet tall, dressed in a dark fur jacket and a tight pair of jeans that too was lined with a silvery kind of fur. On his feet, he had worn a pair of black boots and his feet was nestled in the soft, warm insides of his wool socks that he had pulled up high to his shins to protect him from the stinging cold. His hands were gloved in tight, black leather with pads on his knuckles to cushion any impact he might receive if he punched something or someone. Under his jacket, a black, wool turtleneck was pulled up to his chin as well. He was well protected from the cold that had gone below -5 degrees Celsius.

Absentmindedly, he tucked his gun in the band of his tight jeans that was also lined with fur. He raised his left hand to wipe a streak of blood that slashed his left cheek into two parts. His gaze sharpened as he looked back into the alley. His eyebrows furrowed as he glared at an unknown thing in the darkness before turning around to face the broken shambles of the city. He frowned and he lowered his dark head and threw the hood of his jacket over his head, shadowing his face completely. Taking a deep breath, he began to walk out into the open area and down the dirt path. Each step he took left an imprint on the snow but was covered by the falling snow, leaving no traces of his presence behind.

Soon, a flash of light and the sound of an engine running filled the ghost city but they soon disappeared. No one was there to witness anything.

* * *

><p><em><strong>*<strong>_ _**Stepnogorsk 08 45 hours, 15 November 2012 ***_

"AAAAHHHH!"

A sudden shout broke out, making every single tourist jump a feet into the air. Their tour guide looked around, panicking over the safety of her wards. She hurriedly did a head count before rushing off in the direction of the scream, hoping with all her might that no one was hurt. She did not want to get fired from the tourism agency, not when the economy was so bad. Speeding up, she shouted a few words of comfort to the startled tourists who had so wanted to see a ghost town.

In front of her, a pale woman dressed in winter clothes stumbled out from an alleyway, her mouth opened agape, her eyes staring at something that the tourist guide could not see. She was pointing at something and strangled noises were coming out from her open mouth. Frightened, the tourist guide hurried over to investigate what had scared the poor woman.

The tourist guide did not expect to see what was right in front of her eyes. A dead body was half-covered by the snow which was stained by black blood. The face of the corpse was in shock and fear, his eyes wide and unseeing. His skin was of a sickly, paste colour and his eyes had slightly frozen over. Ice had settled in his nose and open mouth as well as his ears. She could not see where the wound was from but she could guess that it was through his heart.

She looked at the dead man with a mixture of fear and horror. She was about to scream when something caught her attention. It was a card that was stuck in the snow in front of her foot, glistening. She bent over to pick up the card.

It was an identity card. An identity card from America.

* * *

><p><strong>There! This is the prologue so it's a bit short but don't worry, the other chapters would be longer. <strong>

**Like it? Hate it? Do tell me your thoughts and review!**


	2. Chapter 1 A new mission

**CHAPTER 1- A new mission**

**I'm back and I am so glad to see so many people reviewing my prologue! I didn't expect so many reviews after a short while!**

**So thank you ****i**** luv ewansmile****, ****coolaquariun****,**** purdys pal****, ****bcmom****, ****Preeti****, ****Veefall****, ****leelee0474**** for your reviews and support! Thanks to the rest who made 'Ghost' a favourite of yours!**

**So let's move on to the next chapter! **

* * *

><p><em><strong>*-*-*Miami, 11 37 hours, 17 November 2012*-*-*<strong>_

Agent Kim Pearce groaned when she heard the distinctive ring of her home telephone. It was a melody which her mom had picked out for her in order for her to hear the phone even through her music that is always blasting away in her ears when she's at home. The tune was like a siren-like alarm but it held some kind of addictive music that did not grow old even after so many years. Agent Pearce has been living with that phone and that ringtone for five years and it never gets old. Irritating, yes, but never boring.

Pearce dumped her dumbbells on her bed and flexed her well-defined, muscular arms before wiping her face with her white face towel that hung around her neck. Once her face was clean from the sticky sweat, she grabbed her cold water bottle from her bedside stand before pulling off her earpieces and turning off the screeching voice of Aerosmith's I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing before walking out of her room with her bottle.

Taking light sips from her bottle, she wove her way through the mess of her living room, uncaring of the clothes scattered around the floor and the dusty tabletop of the glass coffee table. Her life had taken a downturn after her District Chief announced her probation and she could not care about her domestic life any longer. She just focused on her physical training. She could not care anymore about such trivial matters such as cleaning up the house; not when she was already so mad. Everytime she punched her punching bag, she thought about him who had caused her downfall. If he was not so secretive and lied to her all the time, she would not have fallen to such a bad state.

Gritting her teeth to manage her anger, she picked up the receiver of the phone that was vibrating in its cradle. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the 'Answer' button before raising it to her ear. "Hello," she said, "Kim Pearce speaking."

"Agent Pearce."

She jerked up in attention, a trained reflex she learned in her training during her younger days to become an agent of CIA. The District Chief's voice was serious and sharp, causing her heart that had slowed down from her exercise earlier to speed up again. She gulped a lump in her throat and replied sharply, "Yes Sir. Agent Pearce speaking."

"Good. It was hard to reach you Agent. Why did you off your cell phone?"

"I am sorry Sir, it ran out off batteries and I forgotten to charge it," she lied. She turned it off so that she would not be reachable. What was wrong with her wanting to wallow in her self-pity and anger without any disturbance?

"Hmph," the District Chief huffed, "Since I could finally contact you, let's get to business."

"You're off probation agent."

Her heart leaped in her chest. She was off probation. After two weeks of hopelessness and despair, she could finally return back to work which was her life.

"Thank you Sir."

"Don't thank me yet Agent. You are hanging on a very thin thread now and you are only allowed back because you're needed for a job. We lost too many valuable assets already."

_So I'm not a valuable asset then? _She thought bitterly.

"And we will need you to contact Michael Westen again."

"What?" she asked, shocked, "Why him?"

"He's probably the only one left who could carry out this job alongside you Agent," he replied impatiently, "We know that you would wish not to see him again after the incident but sadly, he is now our most important requirement for this job! So Agent, swallow your anger and contact him!"

"But Sir!" she interrupted, "Surely there's someone else who could do this job…"

"So are you saying you don't want your job back?"

She stopped. She didn't mean it that way but her words certainly sounded that way. She didn't want to see him again, not after she trusted him and he lied to her again. He used her to suit his own interests and he used the company to save his girlfriend when she had killed two men. He was the cause of such misery and it was not only her. The two men that Fiona Glennane had killed had families as well and he did not care about the fact that justice needed to be brought to them. He was corrupt and was more trouble than he was worth but she had to agree with the District Officer. He was probably one of the most valued assets the CIA has.

"No sir," she replied monotonously, "I'll contact him but I must ask, why him?"

"The last agent that we had dispatched out to complete this job was found dead in Russia and he was a great agent, almost just as good as Westen but apparently not good enough. Westen is now the only one who is of a higher level. That is why we need him."

"If there is no questions," he continued, cutting off Pearce's incoming arguments, "I expect you to be here for the briefing which starts exactly at 13 30 hours. Remember Agent that you need to be very careful and nothing short of excellence is accepted."

"I'll see you at the briefing then Agent Pearce."

The line disconnected. Pearce heard the 'beep' that signalled the finality of the matter and her only choice in it. She sighed and placed the receiver back into the cradle. She felt slightly relieved that she was off probation but she could not get off the feeling of dread that had washed over her the moment she heard _his _name. He was nothing but trouble for her and while it might be true that they had a bond of friendship for at least a while, he was using her for his own wants and had not cared for the company or for her.

Pushing out all miserable and angry thoughts from her mind, she strode back to her bedroom to get ready for the briefing. In the pit of her stomach, she felt a sense of apprehension. It had been two weeks since she last stepped into the office. What would the others think? She was embarrassed greatly by the events and her inability to control her asset. It had tainted her honour and reputation as a Special Agent in the CIA and she could never forgive Westen for that.

She pulled open the doors of her wardrobe and pulled out her only pressed white shirt left, a grey wool blazer and skirt as well as some undergarments. She threw them all on the bed before stepping into the shower to wash away all feelings of uneasiness and hatred together with the stink and sweat of working out for nearly four hours. Once she finished, she dried herself completely before throwing her clothes on.

She walked over to the full-length mirror that stood beside her wardrobe. She groomed herself, brushing her wavy dark hair while checking her appearance from head to toe. She had to look her best. That was the only way she was going to show her colleagues that she was not affected by the probation and still maintained her high level of professionalism despite the mistake of trusting Michael Westen too much.

She stopped her grooming the moment she realised that something was wrong. She had not placed the most important possession she had on her clothes. She turned to her bedside table and walked over to it to pick up her treasured item. It was a simple laminated card with her face and CIA details inscribed on it. It was just a card but to her, it was a sign of her importance in the CIA. She was an agent there and she had worked for so long to get this far. This card, an identification work card was the only thing that showed her part in the company.

Clipping it on the waistband of her skirt, she walked over to the mirror again to check herself once again. Satisfied with her appearance, she slipped her feet into a pair of high heels and grabbed the briefcase that remained unopened since two weeks ago since she brought it home. She nodded to herself and whispered to herself, "Well then Agent Pearce. Let's not screw up this time."

* * *

><p><em><strong>*-*-*Miami, CIA Headquarters Miami branch, 13 30 hours, 17 November 2012*-*-*<strong>_

Pearce glared at her colleague Gabriel Manaro who had snickered the moment she entered the conference room. He had been mocking her for ages, laughing at her when she was under probation and reminding her constantly about her mistake of trusting Michael Westen and his cronies. He was a source of annoyance for her and she was not going to let him spoil her mood on her first day back. Her mood was already bad enough without him spoiling it more.

"Well, look who's here," Manaro drawled out, "Isn't it the overly trusting Agent Pearce who has to be friends with _everyone_?"

Sniggers filled the room and she glowered at Manaro's supporters. She turned to face him who had a cocky smile on his face and resisted the urge to smack him hard around his head.

"Well Agent Manaro," she replied pleasantly, keeping out the venom in her voice, "at least I _have _friends. Not like someone here."

His triumphant smile vanished instantly and Pearce allowed a smirk to form on her lips. He shot her a deathly look which she ignored and she promptly took her place near the head of the table where the District Chief was waiting impatiently. He nodded at her, indicating his pleasure in her maintaining her fiery spirit within her despite the situation.

"Alright then. Let's begin," the chief announced loudly, shushing everyone in the room. "What we have here is an important mission and this currently tops our 'To-Do list'. This mission alone had brought out more headache to me than any all the other cases combined so I want everyone to listen up and take extreme caution with the information that will be disclosed here stay confidential and shared only on a 'Need to Know' basis."

"We are currently trying to find the top assassin in Russia which most of you would know by his affectionately called name, Black Panther."

Pearce nodded grimly. She had heard of this notorious assassin who had struck the world for nearly twenty years. His victims were killed with a single bullet or a single slash to the throat or any precise method that showed his professionalism in this field and he never leave any sort of evidence behind that will point him out among the millions of people in Russia. He was an expert in killing, sometimes using hard-to-detect poisons or using the medical conditions of his prey to kill them in order to make it seem like a natural death. One of his victims was scared so immensely and due to his weak heart, he had a heart attack which killed him. The assassin was a ghost, never leaving traces and the CIA never once caught sight of him. America had sent many warnings to Russia to find this assassin but they deny every single accusation of them using this notorious assassin. They insisted that he was not part of their military and he was part of some Mafia. Even after years of trying, the Black Panther evaded capture.

"I see most of you heard of him," the District Chief continued, noting the murmurs that had surrounded the room. "That's good. I need not explain him then."

"This mission is now ranked top after ten years. Black Panther had gone to hibernation or something for ten years and he had not made any kills during that period of time. This was the reason to why this case was not so important then as we thought that he might have met his end. However, we continued searching for him and none of the agents were killed. That is up till two days ago."

"A special agent was found dead in Russia, 15 November at 08 46 hours Russian Time by a tour guide in the ghost city of Stepnogorsk. He was one of our covert operations agents and he was one of the best. It was a hard loss for both us and his family when he was killed by this vicious assassin."

He stopped and bowed his head slightly which everyone followed. They kept silent, respecting this unnamed spy who had died by the hands of the Panther.

"This is why this case has now been placed top again," the chief carried on after a moment of silence. "We must stop this insaneness and stop the killing off Americans as well as the others who the Panther had killed. This is where Agent Pearce comes in."

All eyes rested on Pearce and she hurriedly straightened herself up, raising her chin and looking the chief in the eye steadily. Her heart raced. She was being placed as the head of such an important job and she knew that she could not screw this one up. Even if she had to work with Michael Westen and his antics again, she promised to herself that she would see to the end of this case.

"Well agent?" the District Chief asked, "Do you think you can do this mission?"

"Yes sir," she replied, her voice strong and full of conviction. It was a contradiction to what she as feeling though. She had no idea how to catch the Panther even with Westen's help. That guy was a legend; he was just as popular as Westen and never was he captured. She had no idea how to even start.

"Good," the chief nodded his approval. "You know what to do right?"

"Yes sir. Contact Michael Westen and get his assistance ASAP."

"That's right," he confirmed, ignoring the stutters from the rest who was shocked by the mention of Westen's name and the need of his help. "However agent, I had tried looking for him. I even called his mom but she has no idea to his current locations. I could not contact him and his good friends are nowhere to be seen. Do you think you can find him?"

Pearce settled back into the cushion of the back of her chair and crossed her legs to show more of her confidence. "Of course I do," she said and grinned at everyone, especially at Manaro who was staring at with eyes wide and filled with envy.

"So when can I start?" she asked.

The chief smiled through his pursed lips and replied, "How about right now?"

* * *

><p><strong>So how is it? Like it? Hate it? Do tell me your thoughts and please review!<strong>

**xoxo  
>~Rin<strong>


	3. Chapter 2 A cold fish

**CHAPTER 2- A cold fish**

**Hey everyone! Not going to talk much as I have no idea what to say except thank you to Amanda Hawthorne, purdys pal, FMSMandi, VeeFall, Coolaquariun, Preeti, Espee and bcmom for those wonderful reviews! **

**To the story!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>*-*-*-*Miami, 17 34 hours, 17 November 2012*-*-*-*<strong>_

Pearce stepped out of her car and slammed the door shut. She stared at the bar with a bemused expression, her mouth slightly opened to show her complete amusement that her colleagues back in the office was not able to find out that Sam Axe was in here. She once heard a saying before which goes "If there's a bar, there's always Sam Axe" somewhere so why was it so hard to find him? The bar was a little deserted and it lacked the same buzz that most bars had but it was kind of understandable seeing that this bar was located near the Everglades. Who would want to come to a mosquito-ridden bar when there were bars with no mosquitoes and one dollar beers in the hub of Miami? Apparently, only those who were trying to stay low.

She wiped her sweating brow, cursing the heat that was getting to her ever since she stepped out of the car where the air-conditioner could go down to 16 degree Celsius. She continued to watch the bar, which was called "The Cold Fish", with hawk eyes, wondering if she should enter it bearing her badge. It might be a secluded bar but it was still one so if a CIA agent walked in to talk to one of their customers, there would be no doubt that news would spread about Sam being a CIA asset. Just like Michael, he preferred not to be known as someone who helped them due to their criminal connections. She pondered a while more before finally unclipping the identity card from the waistband of her skirt and stuffing it into her clutch. Satisfied that she could not be caught as an agent of the company, she began walking to the bar which looked that it could not be as cold as its name might have suggested.

Once she was at the entrance, she pushed the wooden doors open, hearing it creak slightly on its rusty hinges. She stood at the opening, looking around to find him at the best point of view. Ignoring the fact that almost everyone in the bar was staring at her, her eyes locked onto the back of a slightly large man wearing a faded blue floral shirt and brown Bermudas. He was facing away from the entrance and had not looked up from his _mojito_ when the doors creaked and groaned from her opening it.

She frowned, not liking the fact that she had to walk through a bar that smelled like stinky socks and sweaty men, mixed with the heady odour of the many alcoholic drinks they sell here. She would have preferred just pointing a finger at him and gesturing at him to come out without even calling him but that's not possible anymore. Doing that would have earned her the title of 'Weirdo' in this bar. Gritting her teeth and sweeping an irritated look around to the staring occupants, she took her first step into the interior, trying her best not to blanch at the smell. Walking quickly towards Sam, she was there in less than a minute. "Sam," she called him as she poked him gently on the shoulder blades to catch his drunken attention.

He spun around faster than she thought he would and his eyes widened in some sort of horrified shock when he saw her. He was not clean, he had not shave for quite some time and he had the red eyes of someone who had not been sleeping for a very long time. His skin was ruddy, a sign of over-drinking in a short period of time. Pearce wondered how many glasses of _mojito _and bottles of beer he had drunk in the past hour. Surely it would be more than ten each drink.

Looking at Sam's face which was etched with disbelief, she said, "Hello Sam. It has been some time since I saw you."

His jaw dropped open as he tried to comprehend the meaning of her words which just annoyed her more. She needed some intelligent company. She had no use of a drunk, gaping idiot who had not uttered a word since she walked in. Sighing, she continued, "Let's talk outside shall we? People are watching."

Finally, he gave a nod, showing her that he had been listening to her since the beginning. Throwing a dollar on the dirty brown counter he was sitting at, he strode out of the bar like a normal man. Pearce followed him again bemused at how he could walk like a sane man instead of staggering like a man who had been drinking too many drinks. Following him at his heels, they walked out of the bar and far away from the entrance, passing her car which she had parked a few feet away from the bar itself. Staring at it as she passed it, she turned around to ask Sam why he was going so far away from it.

Instead, he spun on his heel and said first, "What are you doing here Agent Pearce?"

She swallowed her previous question and quickly came up with a response, "We need your help again Sam."

"And why is that?" he answered, his voice holding a warning.

"We need to find Michael but he is nowhere to be seen."

Sam narrowed his eyes, watching her calm face, looking for an emotion that might give her away as a liar. Finding none, he relieved himself of a breath that he had held since they walked out of that bar which sold beer at two dollars a bottle, nearly cleaning out his pension. That bar was the only one he had not gone to in Miami due to its ridiculous high price of beer and _mohito_. And what's more, it had no pretty waitresses for him to look at. There was only an ugly old woman who owned the bar.

He was hoping that no one would come to find him in order to find Michael. With Fiona locked away in a high-security prison, Michael nearly went mad. He had asked Sam to call every single of his cop buddies to ask for favours that might help her situation which of course, did not, due to the seriousness of Fiona's supposed crime. Stressed, he went into hiding, to keep himself away from the harshness of reality as well as to keep himself away from the devil in disguise that went by the name of Anson. Sam and Jesse were the only ones who knew his current location along with his brother, Nate. But since Jesse was out of state due to work, he was the closest person to the CIA to inform them of Michael's location.

Sighing, Sam asked, "Why must you know? He's not in the mood to see any CIA agent. Hell, he is not in the condition to see _anyone_. So do understand if I find it hard to tell you."

Pearce glared at him, pursing her lips in displeasure. "I don't care. Right now, the current mission is more important than his want to moan around in a motel somewhere," she spat.

"A mission?" he repeated, his voice indicating hard wonder, "You did not believe his story about Fi being innocent and now you want him to help you guys in a job? I don't think I am going to tell you in the end. He does not need a job now when he is still emotionally pained from Fi's arrest."

"I don't care Sam," she replied, cutting him off from his angry rant at her. "He is the only one who could do this mission and I need to know where he is to talk to him! He must help us in this job. He is a must!"

"I don't care if Iran is planning to shoot a nuclear missile at us tomorrow but right now, Mikey's health is more important to me right now."

"Since we have come to no agreement, I'm taking my leave then," Sam said, not wanting to continue an argument with Pearce. He pushed past her, intending to return to the bar to continue his drinking spree.

"What if I said this mission includes the Panther?"

Sam stopped, his insides turning cold. He had heard that cursed name in his Navy days and he still continued hearing about it, though fewer times than twenty years ago. Whenever he heard the name that this heartless assassin was dubbed with, it was always in association with a nasty murder or worse, a mass killing. His acts were known throughout the world but his name was only reserved for those who had to know about this assassin. Sam remembered seeing one of the victims who was tortured to the point he was disfigured beyond recognition. Hearing the name 'Panther' just chilled him to the bone while igniting hatred within him at the same time.

Turning around to face Pearce again, he asked, "The job is about that assassin?"

Pearce nodded her eyes serious. She knew that anyone from the military would hate this infamous assassin who had killed many of their comrades. "Yes," she confirmed his question, "that is why we need Michael. Will you tell me where he is now?"

Sam kept silent for a moment, pondering if he should tell her about Michael's location. "Mikey's important in this mission?" he asked silently, hoping she would say no.

"Yes. The most important person."

"If he does this job, what will he receive in return?"

Pearce pursed her lips, a little irritated that he was asking such an insensitive question. If they helped, the world would be rid of a terror and what other reward can be better? But with Sam glaring at her, she was forced to think up of an incentive that would get him to tell her Michael's location. Meeting his gaze evenly, she lied, "We would think about allowing him to plead for Ms Glennane's case and maybe give him the benefit of doubt but that would be all."

Sam snorted, knowing the terms she had given would not be enough to calm Michael's raging, broken spirit. But it was better than being pushed aside with no chance of helping Fi. He gritted his teeth and gave her a final good look before snapping, "Fine but you must discuss this with Mikey first. If he refuses, we won't help. But if he accepts, then we'll help."

She nodded in agreement, making a mental note to be as persuasive as possible to both her boss and Michael. She could not afford to fail and she was not going to let Michael's wayward emotions get in the way of her success. Seeing that Sam had spun on his heel and was walking back towards her car, she hurried forward and fell into his step, walking side by side with him. She glanced to the side and saw the tension building up in his neck and shoulders and asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah but I got to ask," he responded, "Why must you barge into the bar wearing a lady cop's suit? This'll affect my reputation!"

She frowned at him and said testily, "I took off my badge. They won't recognise me as an agent from the CIA."

He snorted and said nothing for a moment as they were nearing her car. Unlocking it with her key, she motioned for him to enter the car which he did. She pulled open the driver's seat door and sat back into the comfortable seat. When she slammed the door back into place, it was only then when he replied, "You have to be kidding when you said that people won't recognise you without a badge. You are recognisable as an agent with or without a badge, just so you know. You have the air of cop-lady that is very hard to hide."

She glared at him. "Shut up," she snapped, unhappy that he was critical of her disguising abilities. Switching on the air-conditioner, she restarted the engine and soon they were off from the bar that was hotter than the sauna. It did not live up to its name after all.

* * *

><p><strong>A bit shorter than usual but this chapter is something like a transition chapter so don't think so badly of it please! So if you lovelike/dislike/hate it, do review and tell me your thoughts! **

**~xoxo Rin**


	4. Chapter 3 Meet

**CHAPTER 3- Meet**

**Thank you ****Espee,****i luv ewansmile,****bcmom****, ****coolaquariun****,****purdys pal,****Preeti**** and ****FMSMandi**** for your reviews and continual support in the form of reviews! Thank you and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>*-*-*-*Miami, 10 29 hours, 18 November 2012*-*-*-*<strong>_

The incessant crying of little Charlie startled Michael out of his sleep, jolting him out of the narrow, hard bed and he fell, crashing into the wooden floors beneath him that groaned under his weight. The impact caused the entire two-storey house to shake from the attic to the basement which just heightened the baby's cries. Michael moaned and covered his face with his hands, hating the fact he was in the same house as his cry-baby nephew. Yeah sure, he was just a baby so it was understandable that Charlie would scream and cry but no normal babies would be in a temper as much as he did. He cried every single hour and it was driving Michael nuts. He thought that he would be able to have a good rest in his brother's house and be hidden away from the harsh reality. Apparently not. Charlie was harsh reality on his own.

Sitting up, he looked around the room disheartedly. Never had he felt so bored and never did he feel so bored with his life. Before Fi's imprisonment, he had something and someone to wake up to every morning and someone to go back to every night. He had a life and now… all of it was gone together with Fi, imprisoned in a cell forever. His heart sinking, he inspected the room more carefully now, like he always did whenever he woke up. He had turned even more paranoid after taking off and hiding from Anson. He checked everything to ensure that no one was snooping around when he fell asleep. He took no chances when it came to his security which he believed had be so compromised ever since his girlfriend who was a trusted ally and friend was taken away from him.

Biting down on his lower lip, he continued his checking of the small room that his brother, Nate, loaned him in order to mend his broken heart and soul. It was actually an attic but it was spacious and roomy enough with a window attached. In this room, there was a small bed, a television, a mini-refrigerator that held Michael's numerous blueberry yoghurts and a trunk at one end that held all his clothes. The floor was dirty brown with some nails dangerously poking out from the floorboards. Apart from that, nothing was bad about the room. It was a completely habitable place. He had lived in worst before.

He sighed, feeling totally dejected now. Life held no meaning anymore. He shuffled over to the fridge, avoiding the sharp nails absentmindedly. Pulling open the door, he grabbed a yoghurt and a slightly dusty spoon which he rubbed on the cloth of his pants. Once it was cleaned, he used his teeth to tear the cover off before digging into the yoghurt. He scooped the purplish-tinged yoghurt into his mouth, feeling no joy in it. It lost all its taste and he did not know why he could not even enjoy the sweetness of his favourite snack. It seemed like life held no more joy. It pained him more than it pained him for letting Fi go to jail.

Biting down on the cold metal of his spoon, he walked over to the window, hoping that something outside would stop him from thinking such miserable thoughts. He was sure that there would be nothing but it didn't hurt to try. He had been staring out of the window ever since he came here, hoping and looking for something or someone to tell him that there was still hope for him to continue his life before, with Fi and his friends. With his mom as well, but he would prefer to not spend all of his time with her. But every day, it was the same old scene- a busy road and all of Nate's neighbours minding their own business. There was nothing that reminded him of the life he had before he came and there was nothing that could cheer him up. Charlie did not help his mood either. He just made it worst. Nate tried to help, trying to engage him in some cheerless conversation but they never seem to work. If Michael had to decide who had helped the most in some way, it would be Ruth who avoided him like the plague. He only caught a glimpse of her and when she saw him, she hurriedly took off in the other direction. That was the best treatment he could receive now. He just wanted to be left alone.

His heart dropping into an abyss, he stared out of the yellow-tinted window, looking at the neatly pruned bushes of the neighbour across Nate's house. Every single house looked the same- same number of rose bushes, same trimmed green grass and the same boring outlook all together. Nothing interesting and he wondered how his little brother managed to stay here for quite some time without running out of the house, screaming in horror from such a boring state of life. Yes it was peaceful but it was not him nor was it Michael. They lived in a life where guns and explosions were as common as flies over garbage. This life… with a home, a wife and a kid was only a dream for Michael. But Nate managed to grab the chance of settling and having a family. Michael sometimes wondered why and how he could survive. If it was him, he would have not stand for such a standard lifestyle.

Rolling his eyes in some sort of chide to himself, he continued checking the street he was looking at. Everything seemed fine. All the houses are closed from each other and the road was empty apart from the cars parked alongside it. Nothing was new and all was boring. Kids were at school and adults were at work. Moms stayed inside the house to gossip in the comfort of their air-conditioned rooms. No one was outside as no one wanted to be barbequed by the intensive heat wave that Miami was facing. No normal person would want to step out into the heat.

Michael frowned, disturbed by the sound of a coming car. A black Benz slid into view and to his shock and apprehension, it drove right into a stop by the side of the road right in front of Nate's house. His eyes fixed on the roof of the car, glaring at it, his insides flaming slightly at the thought of the possibility of Anson stepping out of it. Without looking, he reached to his right where his gun sat on a nearby stool, collecting dust. His eyes still locked on the car, he snapped the safety off from the gun, ready to protect himself and his family when needed. Holding his breath, he saw the doors of the car open from both the driver and passenger sides.

A dark-haired woman climbed out of the driver side, her eyes shielded from the sun with her dark sunglasses. She looked around the street, her eyes not once looking up to see Michael who was staring at her in shock. She looked familiar to him, from her heeled feet to her hair. But from his point of view and the yellow tint of the window pane, it was hard to tell how she really looked like. Just then a buff man stepped out from the other side of the car. He was wearing a floral shirt and he was sweating profusely. He was not wearing sunglasses nor was he looking around. Instead, he looked straight towards Michael, shocking him in the process. He met the man's eyes and realised who he was.

It was Sam. Michael's jaw dropped slightly as he wondered on why his best friend was here when he had not visited him here for nearly a month. He cocked his head questioningly at Sam who understood the meaning of his gesture. The elder man nodded to the woman who was now walking towards the gates of the house. Michael's eyes followed her, waiting for her to look up in order for him to catch a glimpse of her face.

She looked up and to his horror, it was one person that he did not want to see. It was Agent Pearce, the one who had refused to help him with Fi's case. Rage boiled deep within the pit of his stomach and all he wanted to do was to use that ready-loaded gun in his hand to shoot him in the shoulder blades to make her feel what hell he had felt for the past three weeks. She dared to come and find him when she did nothing, NOTHING, to help him. He just wanted to shout at her to get lost but his hatred was forcing him to bite hard on his teeth. He had no wish to shout when there were still innocent people in the house. Ruth and Charlie were still downstairs and he did not want them to be in the midst of his anger.

Stepping back in order not to be seen, he continued to watch her stare up and down the street before saying something that he could not hear to Sam. He nodded and was obviously trying to make her not do something from the frustrated look in his sweating face but the agent just waved it off and stalked up the pavement to the front door of the house. He waited for her to ring the doorbell, half-hoping that she would not. But when she did, he spun on his heel and grabbed a long-discarded polo shirt on the floor and hurriedly dressed himself. No normal person would exit the home on such a hot day but the man who was grumbling on the front porch and the woman persuading Ruth to let her in were no normal people.

That means he better go down to greet them in his own special way.

* * *

><p>Agent Pearce knocked on the door, rapidly pounding the door in her impatience. She was really pissed that Sam decided to put off the meeting with Michael until this morning. She could not sleep throughout the night, worrying over the possibility that Sam might vanish again and Michael would be unreachable. Tossing and turning in her bed, she could not sleep at all so she got up to re-read the files on the Black Panther. The more she read his alleged crimes, the more she wanted to find him and put him in a prison so that he would atone for his crimes. Hence, each day was precious yet she still had to waste over twelve hours because Sam wanted to sleep.<p>

There was no response in the inside of the house and she banged her fist on the door even harder, the door shaking to threaten her with the prospect of breaking. Ignoring Sam's muttering behind her, she just kept on banging her fist on the door, using all her strength to vent her frustration on the door. She was half-suspecting that Sam had brought her to a dead end. She knew that this house was Nate's house and she was sceptical that Michael would bunk in at his younger brother's home to hide from the CIA. He was always trying to protect his family so staying at his brother's home to stay low seemed unbelievable but maybe that was why he decided to stay here. Maybe it was because he knew that the company would never search for him here.

"Can you relax?" Sam snapped, unable to just stand there and watch her pound on the door so violently.

"Why?" she returned angrily. "Time is of an essence here and there seems to be no one in there. So what's the matter with knocking on the door?"

Just when she finished her sentence, a shrill bawl could be heard from inside the house. It was no doubt a baby crying and it was also a sign that there were people in the house. Pearce halted her relentless pounding on the door in shock. So there were people in the house. Sam was not lying at all.

"That was why I didn't want you to knock so loudly," Sam replied, indicating the loud howls that were emitting from the interior of the home.

She flinched, a little guilty for being the cause of the baby's tantrum now. However, lives were at stake and one baby's cries would not be enough to cover the hundreds of deaths that the heartless Panther had done. She gritted her teeth and blatantly ignored Sam's muttered curse behind her before continuing her relentless pounding on the door.

"BANG!"

She halted, her fist raised, poised to knock on the door once more when it swung open with an enormous force that surprised her. She blinked and in front of her stood Nate, Michael's little brother. He was wearing a singlet and a pair of worn out denim shorts, showing off his hairy legs. On his feet, he wore a pair of fluffy, pink bedroom slippers that spouted a pair of long ears from each slipper. Nate was staring at her, jaw dropping as far as it could and she could catch a whiff of an unpleasant smell that escaped from his opened mouth. She wrinkled her nose while trying to contain her laughter at the comical sight before her. She heard a slap of skin to skin behind her and she could picture Sam face palming which just made her want to keel over in mirth. The situation was going out of hand in many wrong ways.

But this was no time to laugh. Hurriedly composing herself, she said seriously, "Mr. Nate Westen?"

He too, regained his composure quickly before replying, "Yes?"

"May I come in?" she asked, nodding into the interior of his house. She saw his wife, Ruth staring at me. In her arms, she held a little toddler whose face was still red from all the cries. Tears were still streaming down his pudgy face. Glancing at the living room, she saw nothing that indicated that a self-destructive man might live here.

But she was not going to take a chance at all. And she trusts Sam (at least for this one). "Is this a convenient time to talk?" she asked, giving a pointed look at the wife before giving him a meaningful nod at his 'just-got-out-of-bed' appearance.

"What is this about and who are you?"

"I rather talk about this inside," she replied testily, smiling toothily at him to show how urgent it was.

"No," he answered, anger creeping into his voice, "I am not going to let a complete stranger enter."

"I am not a complete stranger." She looked over my shoulder and Nate followed her look. His jaw dropped again when he saw Sam who weakly attempted to make an innocent wave at us.

"Sam?" he called questioningly.

"As you can see, Sam is a... _friend_ of mine so I hope you don't mind me entering. It is getting rather hot out here," she said, deliberately making her tone a little bit harsher while keeping some honey in it.

Nate nodded mutely, stepping aside to allow them in. Sam rushed forward and was inside in a moment. He wiped his brow which was sweating intensively and watched Pearce who had stalked into the living room and apologised for their intrusion to the shocked wife. She patted Charlie on the head which just made him whine but otherwise, quietened him down to sniffles instead. Sam rolled his eyes, obviously uncomfortable about the situation now. Nate walked over to him and gave him an agitated whisper, "Who is she?"

Sam took a glance at the agent who was now checking out the kitchen, apparently trying to locate Michael in places where he was not going to be in alive. Ruth guarded her kitchen. She was a bear protecting her sacred haven, where she kept the food and the place where she tended to her child. No way was Michael allowed to even stick a foot into the kitchen, much less hide in it. Sam looked back at Nate before saying, "Well... it's sort of a long story and it is kinda hard to explain..."

"Then you better start explaining now."

They all spun around and saw a tall man, overshadowed in darkness at the top of the stairs. They watched him descend the flight of steps, anticipation and a little fear and shock mixed in their various emotions. When the man stepped down the last step, they all saw Michael's emotionless face looking impassively at all of them, sparing each of them a glance.

His eyes, however, locked on the agent who stared at him in open hatred as well as relief. Flames were burning in his eyes but Sam was the only one who sensed the massive anger being shared in their Pearce's and Mikey's line of sight.

Michael then said, "Well then. Long time no see, Agent Pearce."

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for late update! Exams make me want to run out into the forest and become a caveman but sadly, there are not many caves at the place where I am. I know, I know. I'm evil for leaving like that but hey, I need to make the story interesting right?<strong>

**So if you like it or hate it, do leave a comment by reviewing! Even if you have no idea what to say, just leave a comment saying you don't! So thanks for reading and have a good day!**


	5. Chapter 4 A deal

**CHAPTER 4- A deal**

**Again, sorry with late update and I can't give you any better excuse than the one last time. Exams hurt me. I can't sit in front of the screen for less than ten minutes without my parents screaming at me to study. **

**Anyways, thank you ****lovedietcoke****, ****coolaquarin****, ****VeeFall****, ****FMSMandi****, ****i luv ewansmile**** and ****Preeti**** for your reviews for the last chapter! It is really nice to know what you think! Thank you very much!**

**Onwards to the story!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>*-*-*-*Miami, 10 45 hours, 18 November 2012*-*-*-*<strong>_

Sam could not resist. He kept on switching glances from Michael to Pearce as they stared at each other stoically, neither dropping their gazes as they exchanged unspoken words over their shared look. They sat on two couches exactly opposite each other, their backs straight with tension and occasionally, they twitch their head in irritation. Ruth had served both of them tea but they sat on their saucers on the glass coffee table in between them. No tea was sipped over the past five minutes and no one moved in the living room. Even the baby, Charlie, had fallen quiet and was watching Michael and Pearce with wonder on his face. But no one noticed the child. They were all watching the two glaring adults who had not spoken a word since they sat on the plump couches.

Pearce felt heated under the eyes of every single living being in the room. Even the little boy was staring at her, his small mouth open slightly in a baby-like astonishment. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Nate and Ruth standing on each side of Sam. Their arms were crossed and they were impatient for them to start talking but neither dared to make a sound to urge them on. Michael looked as though he was going to explode anytime soon so the best move was probably to be still and shut up. What was more, she noticed a barrel of a gun sticking out of Michael's waistband of his slacks. Despite her having her own gun at the moment, she was not comforted. If a gunfight was started, there was no doubt who would pull his gun out first.

Feeling the pressure of so many eyes on her, she decided to make the first move. She leaned forward and she saw Michael tensing up even more. He was so tensed that even a slightest tremor would break him. Pearce decided not to be the tremor so she quietly picked up her cup of tea and brought it to her lips, sensing the slight release of strain in his body. She sipped her tea, finding it surprisingly nice for the wife of a _Westen. _Taking a larger gulp down, she set her cup on its saucer again before crossing her legs daintily, placing her hands on her knees.

"It has been quite so time Westen." She mentally smacked herself for unconsciously starting small talk. She had made a point to make as little conversation as possible and get straight to the point. Yet, her old self which was usually at ease around Michael kept on surfacing.

Michael cocked his head to his left, his eyes flashing as he pondered on her words, searching for any hidden meaning. Finding none, he replied emotionlessly, "What do you want Pearce?"

Pearce bit her lip, frustrated that he was the one getting straight to the point when it should be her. His straightforwardness was such a pain sometimes yet she could not stop herself admiring it sometimes. "I'm here to make a deal with you."

A snort. She watched him angrily as he laughed softly and smirked at her. "You honestly think I would make a deal with you? You, of all people?" Michael's voice was humorous but it held all the traces of venom and seriousness that was Michael Westen's.

"Hear me out," Pearce quickly said, "This is of utmost importance and you are the only one who can help us.

"Us?" he repeated. "You are saying you want me to help you and the company? The organization that locked Fi behind bars for a crime she did not commit?"

The wedge that drove them apart was brought up and Pearce felt her anger heightening when she heard him deny the truth that the Glennane girl killed two men. She hated weakness and she certainly hated it when people allow their emotions get in the way of real justice and missions that benefitted her country. While following emotions might be able to appease the battle within a person, following orders from superiors with the country's best interests in mind would profit an entire country.

Keeping her emotions in check, she just nodded and replied, "We are willing to listen to your plea for Ms Glennane's case if you help us out."

Michael stared at her. It was not every day the CIA considered releasing a criminal from their prisons, even if it was in forfeit. They would surely try to arrest Fi again, even if he helped them. That was the way of the CIA- everything goes according to their plans and no 'evil criminal' would be loose on the streets. Just thinking about it gave Michael a headache as he tried to figure out the loopholes that the CIA had set up. He was not going to let any chance of getting Fi out of prison, even if it meant he had to help the company in whatever _important _mission that they require of him.

However, he could not seem too interested or eager of the agent's offer. It would not be beneficial to him and the odds would be tilted towards the CIA's side- something he did not want badly. Keeping his face emotionless, he questioned, "What are the terms?"

Pearce watched the ex-covert spy carefully, trying to catch a glimpse of any sort of emotion to crosses his face but to her disappointment, found none. She settled back on her couch, making herself look calm and composed when her heart was beating furiously against her ribs. It was so fast and loud that she was pretty sure that Michael could hear it but then again, he did not show any sign of noticing. "We offer the retrial of Ms Glennane…"

"Retrial?" he interrupted, much to her annoyance. She shut her mouth, cocking an eyebrow at him, silently indicating for him to continue. "Just a retrial?" Michael repeated, his temple starting to throb as he gritted his teeth.

"Yes," the agent answered stonily, not helping his mood at all. "I believe that would be enough-"

"No it is not." Michael had stopped holding his emotions in but instead, had used it to spice his voice with venom. "I had pleaded for her but no one took my words into account. A _retrial _would not suffice to guarantee her freedom and I am not taking anything less than her freedom as well as mine so we could live without the interference of you or the company."

"So if you want my help, that are my terms," Michael snarled, sitting back in his couch while folding his arms. "Take it or leave it." His voice indicated the finality in the matter and Pearce could not help but feel threatened by the man.

She chewed the insides of her mouth angrily, thinking about his conditions and how she was going to explain it to the higher-ups back in the office but she knew that if she stalled or returned to the office to get their permission, Michael would leave and escape. With little time on her hands, she had to think quickly on how she could create a loophole for her to use so she would be able to get the Glennane woman back to where she belong- prison. She wondered why Michael still believed and supported Fiona even when she did terrible, terrible things and most of them were for her own selfish wants. Joining the IRA and everything before becoming an illegal bounty-hunter, she was never on the right side of justice. Michael however, was a soldier before becoming a spy, someone who gave up his life and innocence to protect the needs of his country or company. She wondered why he had fallen for the total opposite of him.

Snapping out of her reminiscing of their odd relationship, she focused on the loophole she had to create. She glared at Michael who returned the hate happily and she felt an immediate urge to knock him out just for her own satisfaction.

_Wait_, she thought, her eyes widening slightly, _I totally forgot that I did not even tell anyone else in the Company about the deal. They did not even say I could use Glennane as a bargaining chip. However, this serves my purpose._

"Fine," she snapped at him, seeing a shocked reaction in return. "Ms Glennane would be released." _Well, that's what I say…_

She saw a flash of relief in Michael's eyes but it was quickly replaced with suspicion and wariness before his eyes became shielded again. She felt a sense of appreciation at his fast restoration of his mask but felt some thrill of fear. She hoped he would not figure out her lie. If he did… she shuddered to think what he would do to her and everyone she cared for.

"Since we got to the end of the terms, let's talk business."

Pearce halted before nodding to the audience who stood around them. They stared at her, open-mouthed, unsure of what she meant but Sam recovered quickly and he hurriedly said, "Today is a nice day, isn't it? Let's go out for a walk!"

He grabbed Nate who pulled his wife but that was before she managed to pick up her little son. Then together, they trooped out of the house and slammed the door shut behind them. Pearce breathed out a sigh of relief as she could now speak freely. She did not want to share the news that an assassin, who was notorious for his many kills, was now restarting his fearsome killing after more than ten years of disappearance. No one knew why nor did they really care. All they wanted was for this monster to be stopped.

She glanced at Michael who was still looking at her impassively, waiting for her to speak. She took a deep breath, knowing that once she told him the confidential details, there was no turning back. She would have to stick to him like a piece of gum on his shoe to ensure that he would not do anything stupid. She was not going to let him and his big head take over the mission and turn it into a huge disaster as he usually did. And unlike the past where he could always fix everything again, this time, one mistake can turn the tables around on them. She was not going to let that happen and she would make sure of it. Even if she had to point a gun at Michael.

"You need to know that whatever said in this room has to remain confidential."

Michael just gave a sharp nod at her words, waiting for her to move on. Pearce took a deep breath before saying, "The Black Panther's back."

Silence met her words. There was no change in Michael's facial expression and she narrowed her eyes at him. He was too uncaring for one who had been part of a mission to annihilate the Panther twenty years ago. The mission that failed terribly, resulting in many American lives destroyed. Michael was one of the very few survivors and yet, he held no anger or fear in his eyes. She silently prayed that it was hidden behind that stone cold mask of his.

"We want you to find the Panther." She stopped there. That was all there was to the mission. It was simple. Stop the Panther. Stop the killing. Stop the rogue assassin.

"Alive or dead?" Pearce perked up at Michael's question. He stared at her, making her feel as though he was drilling her with those eyes. He held her gaze evenly, not a shred of emotion in his eyes as he repeated, "Dead or alive?"

Pearce did not know. She was just told to stop the Panther but she was not told on the conditions. She just knew that he had to be stopped. But then again, the Panther was notorious and the only one who was never seen. Everyone who had seen the Panther did not live to tell the tale. She often wondered how he escaped scrutiny and watchful eyes as well as ensured that there was no evidence leading back to the man himself. It was mind-blowing, the man's intelligence and skill. He was certainly of the highest caliber and if the CIA acquired the information on how he did everything he did, they might be able to catch the numerous enemies, terrorists and what-not that threatened the States.

Making up her mind, she replied, "Alive. At least so he can talk. I want to know how he does everything."

Michael smirked at that. He stood up, signaling the end of the conversation. It was also a clear dismissal of Pearce. She hurriedly stood and she looked him in the eye again. "Well?" she asked, waiting for his response to the mission.

"A chance to take down the man who killed so many and at the same time save my girlfriend?" Michael gave her a crooked smile. "I am not passing the chance."

She broke out into a big smile at that, relieved that she enrolled Michael into the mission. Although she hated him and he returned the feeling almost too happily, she knew that with him on task, the mission would most likely run smoothly without many hiccups. Well, that was what she hoped. The mission would be smooth, sure, but the road was going to be long and painful. For everyone.

"Great," she said briskly, "I expect you to be at the CIA building tomorrow at 13 00 hours sharp to go over the mission in greater detail."

She spun on her heel and headed towards the door. Through the window pane, she saw Sam chatting to Nate and Ruth animatedly who looked as though they could no longer take the suspense of the happenings in their very own house. Sam was totally oblivious to their fidgeting and side-glances to their home, complimenting a neighbour's house who looked exactly the same as the next. Pearce allowed herself a small smile as she watched the large man's antics but another thought passed through her mind, forcing her smile to disappear.

She looked over her shoulder, noticing Michael watching her dazedly. "And Michael?" she called, getting his attention immediately. He snapped out of his daze and stared at her with more focus.

"Do remember what is at stake here." She needed to rub it in his face. The freedom of his girlfriend and a chance to live a life with her were at stake and Pearce needed to ensure that he would keep them in mind. So that he would not screw it up. Michael gave a half-hearted growl in response, much to her satisfaction.

"And you make sure that you remember what you promised me Pearce," he answered back. "If you don't, you will see what I can do.

She shuddered slightly, hearing the acidity of his threat. She was not willing to experience the wrath of Michael Westen. Glaring at him, she snapped, "I won't. Make sure you don't as well."

Flinging the door open with rekindled anger, she stepped out and without turning back, slammed the door.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for such a LOOOONG wait! Exams you see… I can spout out all the excuses but I think you all know the main reasons to why there's such a long wait.<strong>

**Sorry for short chapter as well. I will try and make up with the next chapter! So please hang on and bear with me and look out for the next chapter!**

**And DO REVIEW! Thank you very much!**


End file.
